Love and Hurt and Bras In Space
by inelegantprose
Summary: An assortment of Han/Leia ficlets. Humor, trauma, parenting, falling in love, and being a young woman in a galaxy far, far away.
1. Rebel Girls

_If you follow me on Tumblr, where I post under the same username, none of these are new – just posting here for other folks to check out._

 _Vaguely inspired by a snippet I think I saw of Mark talking about dancing in his trailer with Harrison._

 **Rebel Girls**

" **A song"**

By the time Leia had stalked back to her quarters and slammed the door behind her, she was practically out of breath. She threw her satchel on the table and, after some consideration, yanked off her flats and chucked one, then the other, directly at the wall. _Damn it! Damn it all!_

She raked fingers through her hair, fuming. Then, suddenly furious at the elaborate style she'd so diligently mastered to fit with local custom, she began to savagely yank out the small army of pins pasting it all together, leaving an enormous ratty mess of curls and tangles framing her face. This diplomatic trip was a disaster, a waste of resources, a waste of everyone's time, all because of her. She could still hear the governor's sneer, feel his unimpressed eyes raking over her: _So this is what this alleged New Republic thinks of our potential contribution? They've sent us a little girl as their ambassador?_

Damn it all!

And too: how his attendant had held open the door and bowed his head at her assistant, greeting _him_ with "It is an honor, ambassador" – her assistant! Max was competent, sure, but also awkward and gangly and very obviously walking two paces behind her. "It is an honor, ambassador." Damn it all to hell! She who was wearing a white gown on the advice of the provisional council because it was "recognizable," who had spent an hour doing her hair in this stupid elaborate "modest" style to fit local custom, who consented to not walking unaccompanied by a man while planetside, who had dutifully slipped on a stand-in ring even though she and Han were only engaged – all this, to guarantee the successful negotiation of the planet's entry in the New Republic, only to be sneered at.

To be asked, "Oh – where did your husband get off to?"

To be told, "I won't negotiate with a barely-grown _girl_."

Leia had been raised to value cultural competency and empathy and understanding but if one more person refused to take her seriously just because she was slight and young and _female_ she was going to erupt into flames. She felt her face grow sharp and said aloud to the empty room, her voice nasty, "You didn't mind that I was a young woman when I was risking my life for our cause, did you?"

Maybe it wouldn't have stung so much if so much of it wasn't coming from _inside_ the Alliance now, too. Ever since Han had accidentally spilled the news of her pregnancy – had that hideous briefing only been last week? – suddenly everything she said was silly, everyone listening merely humoring her, every response to her ideas a sympathetic nod and a "Now, Princess…" She had been so _proud_ of how she'd stormed into Mon's office and demanded that she not be taken off this mission – or any further ones – just because of her "condition." Said she'd been carrying things out for four months now while pregnant perfectly well – _better_ than well. And for what?

This was it. No matter how hard she tried, she would always be tiny, naive, virginal, a symbol of tragedy or hope depending, a little girl rather than a serious political player. And soon people would be reaching out to touch her and jokingly calling her Mommy and interrupting her briefings to ask if she needed a chair. _Damn it! Damn it! Damn it all to hell!_

At least she had Han, she thought as she felt the sting of hot, angry tears on her cheeks. Han who wasn't babying her, who retorted with a sharp "The fuck makes you think that's my decision?" when asked "Gee, Solo, you're letting join you on this mission?", who told her he loved seeing her in serious and in charge, that it was gorgeous and sexy, that it was why he wanted her in the first place.

Still fuming, she paced around the small unit they'd been assigned. Han was planetside too, doing somewhat related intel and really only seeing her when they both flopped into bed exhausted at night. A pair of his boots were splayed unceremoniously across the floor – _she_ wanted to wear boots, it wasn't _fair_.

She was getting ready to begin a session of punching pillows when her datapad beeped. She glared and snatched it up, ready to defend herself against the council's frustration with how things had gone so poorly so fast. To her surprise, though, it was a holonet link and message from Luke, saying only "Did you see this?"

Leia wrote back immediately: _I don't keep track of every article calling me a disgusting slut, sorry._

To which he replied: _Do you know Bikini Blast?_

Leia rolled her eyes. _Is that some kind of "blasters, but for women!" crap?_

 _Haha, very funny. They're a punk band. Just click, trust me._

Leia gritted her teeth. Typical Luke – here she was screaming inwardly about her place in the universe, and he was _listening to music_. Leia never had had much interest in it – she knew classical Alderaanian works, of course, but faddish contemporary things had never interested her – why listen to music when she could listen to a news broadcast of current events? It seemed like a waste of time.

 _Turn the volume way up,_ Luke added.

Half curious, half still hideously angry, Leia amped up the volume on the datapad and followed the link. Punk band. Great. Just what she needed to end her day – a slew of misogynistic shrieks from a group of unwashed men.

The song loaded up, and, to her surprise, the picture attached showed a group of _women_ – young, mostly humans, wearing short skirts and running shoes and looking _pissed as hell._ And – was the lead singer actually wearing those stupid double buns? Was she from Alderaan – that wasn't possible – was she _mimicking Leia?_ She found herself smiling confusedly, _what had Luke sent her this time?_ , and then felt her face break into an enormous, unexpected grin when she saw the title of the song.

And then it started: a hard procession of drums and then guitar, loud and low and angry. And the lead singer's voice – something like mouthing off, angry and annoyed: _That girl thinks she's the queen of the neighborhood! She's got the hottest trike in town!_

She wasn't even singing, Leia thought, amused and entertained, just _ranting_ , coy and pissed and still decidedly feminine – _"That girl, she holds her head up so high!"_

And then a chorus, loud and angry and aggressive and not fucking around: "Rebel girl! Rebel girl! Rebel girl you are the queen of my world! Rebel girl! Rebel girl! I think I wanna take you home – I wanna try on your clothes – uh!"

Fuck that governor, fuck I don't negotiate with little girls, fuck her assistant as the ambassador – suddenly she was up, throwing her monstrous mess of hair back at forth, her eyes squeezed shut. Damn it all – she was more qualified than anyone she knew, she could run this whole goddamn operation herself if people would just _let her–_ –

"When she talks, I hear the revolution! In her hips, there's revolution!"

Fuck every man who'd said her voice was too shrill, or else too low and rough – fuck the speechwriter who'd said it would help her to "mention her unborn child" in her next address – fuck every communications creep who'd said as though she wasn't even in the room that a bit more cleavage would make her seem more "approachable," and would she _please_ let down some of her hair!

It wasn't dancing, what she was doing now – more like throbbing. Jumping, flailing, unsexy, uncaring, making noise as her feet thumped against the floor again and again – making a fucking racket, and who would stop her? She whipped her head back and forth, letting the angry tears fly off her face, staining the white dress with sweat, not giving a shit – fuck every one of them, the raised eyebrows at Han, the gossiped lies that she'd bedded her way through the Rebellion's ranks––

"That girl thinks she's the queen of the neighborhood! I got news for you – _she is!_ They say she's a slut, but I know – she is – my best friend – _yeah!"_

She was so busy not giving a shit that she didn't notice when the door slid open, and as she whipped around a few seconds later during an instrumental break she almost staggered backwards when she noticed him there, leaning in the doorway, watching her and grinning amusedly. This was probably the most un-Han, un-Leia thing she'd ever done, she was sure – they _never_ flailed, they never were outrageous or unironic, they never made fools of themselves or allowed themselves to seem goofy, they never were _loud_ ––

She threw out her arms as if to say _this is happening, it just is sort of happening_ and said breathlessly, "I had – such a shit day and then – someone – some punk bad – wrote a song for me – about me – I think about me at least – about a girl being – just – just fucking unstoppable." She shook her head, "I'm sorry, I just––"

But then when the lyrics came back in, he was suddenly beside her, jumping up and down and rocking out.

She felt gasping laughter tumble out of her as she went back to jamming herself – "Rebel girl you are the queen of my world!" – his dance moves were unbelievably absurd, so dorky, so unabashed, so _not Han_ – Han who was suave and cool and masculine, who talked dirty unironically, who smoldered – who did not _thrash his head like that_ and croak out lyrics like "I wanna be her best friend!" with some lady punk singer––

Han who would always support her, who was always there for her – who liked her because she was unstoppable – who told her y _ou used to scare the crap out of me_ as an awestruck compliment, who moaned when she pushed him onto his back in bed – she felt herself grab his hands and yank them back and forth, laughing, maybe still crying, still jumping, still whipping her hair around, Han who was singing to her, outrageous and absurd, "Rebel girl – you are the queen of my world!"––

As the song closed out, he grabbed her and kissed her forcefully. She could still feel the shape of a laugh in his lips, and she laughed too, raking her fingers through his hair as aggressively as she dared as he moved to kissing her neck. As he lifted her up to haul her to the bedroom, he grunted, "You're fucking unbelievable, sweetheart. Never, ever change."

She tilted her head back, feeling the weight of all that heavy hair, spraying out in every which way, outrageous and untamable, and beamed. "Never ever," she swore, and with it renounced demure _as a mother_ speeches, dresses that _give us a better sense of your shape_ , missions wherein _we don't want to strain you, dear,_ nations that wouldn't negotiate with bright, serious, unstoppable girls. "I won't."

 _Apparently Bikini Kill exists in a galaxy far, far away._


	2. Babyhair

**Babyhair**

" **Can you write me something cute and cuddly?"**

"Han," she murmured as she finally snuggled up to him in bed after a day that felt impossibly long. "We need to do something about his hair."

He was half awake, but knew better by now than to merely yes her. "Do something how," he mumbled, reaching up to stroke her frizzy braid.

"Cut it or – something. It's – unkept – sloppy – it makes me anxious – and it's all splintered, and I am sick of combing gunk out of his tangles." She yawned, sighing. She was not exaggerating – at five Ben's dark, messy hair hit just past his shoulders, and was forever knotted, sticky, nasty, spiraling after him as he zipped around this strange new planet they would yet again grow accustomed to, eventually. Cutting hair seemed like something for more idle people, who lived in places with hair salons, and for awhile she'd thought, why not allow him this one thing? But this was getting out of hand – today there's been green paint in the drain of their quarters' crappy tub, and all under her fingernails too. "Han. We've got to do something."

She tried to be nonchalant about it the next day, though she did work hard to get home promptly. "'Loved," she said in a voice as bright and upbeat as she could manage without setting off his suspicion, "did you da tell you what we're doing after dinner tonight?"

Ben, coloring on the floor, merely shook his hand, curls swarming.

"We," she said, sitting down across from him and picking up some crayons too, "are cutting your hair tonight."

"Nope," he said lightly, and Han, busy at the stove, snorted.

"Yep," Leia replied just as simply, beginning to color – trees, mountains, home always on her mind.

"Nope, Mama, nuh-uh."

"Yes, 'loved, we are. Pass me the blue, please. Thank you. What do you say?"

"You're welcome," he replied dutifully, not looking up. "Mama nope, don't wanna. Sorry."

"You see me cut my hair, don't you? Little trims? You see me cut your daddy's hair–"

"Nope–"

"And he looks handsome, doesn't he? You don't want to look handsome like your da?"

Han, amused, turned to look at them.

"He's very handsome," Leia added, her lips curling into a wry smile. "And you'll look even handsomer, darling, because your head isn't as _enormous_ –"

"Yep, there it is."

"No thank you, Mama," Ben said politely, giving her a smile and patting her hand, and raced over to attempt to climb up his father's legs.

She tried him again during his bath. "If it was shorter, you know, it wouldn't get in your eyes so much," she observed lightly. "And baths wouldn't take so long, so you'd have more time to play…"

"No thank you," he said, grinning at her and giving a little splash.

"Any reason?"

"Don't wanna."

"You don't want to?"

"Yep. All done, Mam, thank you," he said, and before she could catch him he was sprinting to his little bedroom, dripping and naked.

Before Han went in to tell him a story like always, she yanked him aside. "Han. I need you to tell him a story about a boy who lets his mam cut his hair. Alright?"

"Ah, yeah, that's my favorite," he retorted wryly, eyebrows high.

"Or – could be subtler – something about growing up, being brave, facing fears – I don't know, you're the one who–"

He laughed again. "I'll see what I can do."

When she was pulled back in, later, to kiss Ben goodnight, he said, unprompted, "No haircut, Mama, okay?"

She sighed and sat on the side of his narrow bed. Fanned out all over his pillow was that difficult, knotty, impossible hair. "Is there a reason why, or are you just trying to be difficult?"

"M'not difficult," he said, sticking on his tongue.

"Well. Not always," she said, grinning at him.

"I like my hair because," he began, "it's lots of fun, and it's strong, and it's pretty, and it's like you."

"Like me. Is that so?"

"Yes," he said seriously. "Yours is the longest but I'm going to catch up so there."

"Going to take an awful long time for that," she murmured, stroking his hair thoughtfully. "But you know I keep my hair up and done, and I take very good care of it even though it takes a lot of time. And this," she said, picking at a particularly ugly tangle, "is not very good care."

"I can do that," Ben said immediately. "I'm big."

"It's a serious responsibility. You have to let your mother comb it every evening and you have to let her do it every morning, like my mother used to do for me."

"I can do 'sponsibility, Mama. I'm _big_."

"I know you are, Ben, but it's – a whole custom, where Mama's from, remember? with only letting it down in private–" (And its for women, she thought absently, but she was forever remaking Alderaanian traditions, why stop now?) "With Mama's hair, it's all very – complicated, and–"

"Mama," he said insistently, "I moved all the way _here_ -home. From all the way _there_ -home. I'm _big_."

And it was true – during this latest move he'd been exceptional, in high spirits and excited and forgiving, sometimes even more than Han, she thought wryly. When his room wasn't fitted with a bed, apparently imagined as an office, he gamely slept on the couch for a week, even though he confessed he thought the living room was spooky – when they were arguing about how to address the shower being stopped up he was giddy and easygoing about her rinsing his hair in the kitchen sink – when both of their hours went late he was never spiteful or nasty, just kind, forgiving, hopeful – _big_. The way they always hoped he would be.

The next morning found him bouncing on her lap eagerly, dressed for preschool and chattering and only squirming a bit as she combed. "So, were you thinking braids or buns or…?" she asked lightly.

"I want something that's like… super strong!" Ben declared. "Super tough."

Leia grinned. "Alright, I think I have something in mind, but you have to hold still…"

Once they were both dressed and ready he beat her out the door like he always did, so eager to face the day, so excited about the world before him in a way that made her heart ache and sing all at once, pausing only to grab his lunchbox and hollering "bye Daddy, ha'-nice-day!" over his shoulder.

Leia, for her part, paused to kiss her husband. He gave her an amused look. "Those look familiar," he remarked.

"I think he may wear them better," she admitted. "But then again, it was a bit out of my control, how mussed mine became…"

He kissed her again, and for not the first time she thought _Yes, this_. Yes this improbable, unshakable man, yes this goofy and generous child, yes this unusual, incomparable way of being a family, of making a life.

As she turned to chase down their son, he gave her a wink. "Tell 'im to make sure he avoids any trash compactors, alright?"


	3. Comfort

**Comfort**

" **Maybe some HanxLeia snuggles? Coming home after a lousy day and wanting to chill on the couch and have ice cream and smooch?"**

The sight he came home to was one he had never, ever expected. Granted, this wild trip of what could now actually be called a relationship had mostly be a series of unexpected sights, some examples being a naked princesses in his bed or else those same princesses levitating objects in a fit of frustration being only two of them. Still, this one was definitely up there.

He'd expected to come home to find their unit empty – it was only 1600, and didn't Leia have a whole slew of speeches today? Wasn't that why she'd set that alarm for near _dawn,_ Kriff, to lace herself into some elaborate, ill-fitting dress and twist her hair into a precarious pile? He definitely remembered hearing her softly zipping through her speech into the mirror, the way she often did when she thought he wasn't looking, her face moving through a pre-planned slate of emotions as fast as a blaster bolt. Right, and he knew it was important because she'd been digging around the closet noisily, and he'd protested, trying to sleep, and she'd cursed about trying to find a bra – she only wore a bra if it was _really_ important.

And yet: here she was, on their couch in the middle of the day, her hair soaking wet and dangling in her face in dripping tendrils, her face buried in what appeared to be a double-decker hamburger that she needed both hands to hold, ketchup on her chin, wearing nothing but one his t-shirts and a bright green thong.

Leia froze, looked up at him. She tried to say _I can explain,_ except her mouth was super super full it sounded more like, " _I es'pain!"_

"Careful, Princess," he said, smirking. "Don't choke." She glared at him, and he added with a grin, "Chew and swallow, that's it."

She kept glaring but did so, pausing to take a long sip from – "Is that a _milkshake_?"

"Maybe it is," she said haughtily, sticking up her chin as he plopped down beside her.

"Well, you got fries, or––"

She wordlessly handed him an enormous greasy container.

"Large. So we could share, right? Good thinking, sweetheart," he said, winking at her. "Hey, you got a little––" He swiped at her chin playfully. "So. Want to tell me what happened to Little Miss _I Can't Believe You're Putting This Crap Into Your Body, Do You Know What It's Made Of?_ Or…"

"She got rained on," Leia mumbled, curling up against him. "Absolutely torrential down-poured, in the middle of her speech."

"Yikes."

"In her white dress."

"Ah, that so? And I missed it?"

"Don't worry, the Allied Forces of the New Republic can fill you in on every detail of how I looked," she said darkly, snuggling closer. "Maybe they'll quit insisting I wear the 'iconic' white dress after this?"

"Mm… they like you as the virgin princess of the New Republic too much…"

" _Virgin_ princess? Who's that?" she snorted.

"Dunno, but I bet she's a damn good lay."

"Anyway, so of course then I had to run back to change, heaving around this hideous, soaking, see-through dress, and it's forty-five minutes away… and then I get dressed really quickly and race back, but of course by then the lunch reception is over. And of course on my way home I get caught in the rain _again_ , because naturally, so I'll have to get dressed _again_ to go back out for food––"

"Or you could, ya know, cook––"

"Let's not be ridiculous. So I decided to. You know. Order in."

"Order in an extra-large combo from the greasiest fast food chain in the whole kriffin' galaxy…?"

"I was looking for _comfort_ ," she said indignantly. "To drown my sorrows in some kind of _pleasure_."

"Some kind of pleasure, huh?"

"Yes. And they have that very quick delivery guarantee, you know, so it's faster than masturbating," she said primly, her eyes dancing behind her stern expression.

He choked for a second – "Yep, that's always what I look for in food service."

"Yes, well." She dipped a fry in the milkshake. "It worked, so––"

He stared at her. "What the hell did you just do."

"Excuse me?"

"What did you – you just got grease and salt and crap in that perfectly good shake!"

"You've never – what? That is a normal thing! People do that!"

" _Nastiest_ ––"

"That is a normal thing that people do! That is a _normal thing_ people do with fries – _stop_ looking at me like that! _You_ would eat a fry off the _floor_ of the _Falcon_!"

"At least it wouldn't be tainted by a shake – why would you take two good things and wreck them both. Why."

"If you just try––"

" _Why, Leia?"_

"––Then you'll see." He opened his mouth to respond, and she took the moment to sneak a dipped fry between his lips, grinning before kissing him lightly. "Well?"

"I liked the part that came after the most. S'it always come with that, or…?"

"You're lucky I'm generous and feel like sharing."

"You know," he said, his voice dropping. "Kinda feel like there's a third option now – for fixing your bad day. Other than touchin' yourself and eating?"

She blinked innocently at him, grinning. "Watching a holofilm?"

"Not quite." He kissed her hard pulling her tight against him and rubbing her shoulders lightly as if to massage away the bad day. She kissed back just as eagerly, fingers gripping his hair tightly, before pulling away with an embarrassed smile.

"Everything ok?" he asked, content but confused.

She nodded, turning redder. "I just… I sort of really want to finish that burger before it gets cold."

He laughed out loud and kissed the top of her head. "By all means, princess. You earned it."


	4. Asking

_Companion piece to my one-shot "Sweetheart." Rape/non-con warning for the subtext._

 **Asking**

 **"…Does it spark your imagination to think of Han asking to kiss Leia?"**

There was a time when she would've declined the invitation with a cool "I don't much enjoy parties," and even now she could still feel that response rolling through her body – her shoulders easing back, her chin tilting up, her eyebrows rising just a tinge in that luxurious skeptical way that commands attention. Collected, mild, just the tiniest bit superior. And she did almost always decline – she didn't much love staying sober while others were drunk, and she liked even less the prospect of losing control of herself in front of the recruits. And if they weren't drunk, they were exceedingly awkward around her, which she understood. She wouldn't know what to say to herself, either.

But now she found herself shaken, made uneasy and too vulnerable by the long, dark months on this freezing planet, the increasingly grim situation with the Alliance's resources, the ache of loneliness and cold that permeated into every interaction – no one wanting to spend too long in any one place, lest they become frozen there. She was off her game; her tone in briefings was less removed sophistication and more barking, her barbs with Han not so much clever as flustered and nasty. Her cuticles bleeding, her hair all split ends.

So, when Luke invited her to the latest base social event – he always invited her, even though she always declined – all she'd been able to say was some lame excuse about working late. Which meant she actually had to work late, because she wouldn't be caught in a lie. Which meant she was spending her night here in this office of empty terminals, the bright blue light on her face, her eyes tired and numb. She was sitting still long enough that the motion-activated lights had clicked off some time ago, but still she peered at the unforgiving screen.

The days were slipping together, here. Mess had been serving the same food for a few days now, which not only hurt morale but also made each day evermore indistinguishable. She wore the same uniform, did her hair the same way. Could only really measure time by the shrinking nub of her crappy liner pencil, the prickle of hair on her legs. It felt like it had been years. It couldn't possibly have been years. But it had been, hadn't it?

Suddenly, there was a hand reaching out beside hers, holding a cup – she lurched back, almost falling out of her seat, and yelped, triggering the lights and almost blinding herself as a result.

"Easy, sweetheart," Han said lightly, his eyebrows high.

"You cannot do that," she hissed, her eyes struggling to adjust. "You absolutely cannot scare me like that."

"I thought you heard me," he said seriously. "M'sorry."

"It's fine," she said tightly, trying to ease the rigidity out of her body.

"You alright?"

"I'm fine, Han." She looked up at him, frowning. "What are you doing here?"

"Brought you a cup of wine," he said, shifting uncomfortably. "Since you skipped the festivities."

"Have you been drinking?" It slipped out of her mouth suddenly from some buried place, the same place that had made her rigid moments ago.

He frowned slightly. "Sort of a weird question to ask, but no. Not my crowd."

"Ha. Me neither."

"What, you kidding? This is your rebellion, these are your people."

"Not my peers. And I don't like parties much anyway."

"Yeah. Me neither." He shifted again. "Mind if I sit? Not pulling you from anything important, am I?"

She exhaled heavily and pulled the rolling seat from the next terminal, offering it to him, before taking the cup. "No." He sat, still peering at her, while she looked into the cup, her thoughts drifting.

They were silent for a long time, and then he said, "You're not gonna demand to know why I followed you up here…?"

She looked up at him, startled. "Oh, I––"

"Or drink that?"

She bit her lip. "Do you want it? You could have it."

"Something on your mind, princess?"

"No. I… no." She tried to will herself to say something clever, something harsh even, but nothing would come.

"As long as I've known you, don't think I've ever seen you at a loss for words."

She gave him a tiny smile. "Oh, you've known me that long, huh?"

"S'been a couple years now, hasn't it?"

"I suppose it has been."

They sat in silence for a bit again, her swirling the cup idly, still enough that the lights went out again.

"Can you stand up?" she asked mildly.

"'Scuse me?"

"I can't set it off by standing, I'm too short. Can you stand up?"

He laughed, stood up briefly, and the lights returned. "So, do you spend a lot of time sitting alone in the dark, or…?"

"When it suits me," she said.

"It does. But the lights do, too."

"Do what?"

He looked at her, not teasing or flirtatious or wicked – genuine, calm. "Suit you."

She flushed, turning her eyes away. "Han."

"What?"

She shook her head wordlessly, touching the pieces of hair that had fallen from her braid.

"Not too talkative tonight, are ya?"

"Han, why are you here?"

"Thought you might like company."

"Han."

He shrugged, looking away. "I know you get in a sort of shitty place whenever this kind of stuff is happening, so I figured…"

"You know everything about me, then?"

"Not everything."

"You know how to set me off, you know what makes me feel 'shitty'––" She felt herself flushing with something like anger, something like humiliation.

"I know that you've been like a zombie for the past few weeks, and that Luke says you're never at meals – but no, princess, I don't know everything about you. And you make sure of that."

She rolled her eyes. "Because _you_ wear your heart on your sleeve."

"Didn't say I did. I'm right though, aren't I? About you wantin' company."

"Yes. You're right."

"Good. Now. Go ahead and drink that, alright? You can relax for one night."

She raised her eyebrows, feeling confidence surge back into her features. "Are you trying to get me drunk, Captain?"

He snorted. "You would be the type to get drunk off of one drink."

She sipped lightly, ignoring the comment. "Thank you. This was – kind."

"Not so bad one-on-one, am I?"

"Am _I_?" she asked, half-serious.

"Not bad at all." He touched her knee, just barely, his posture suddenly serious. "I'm sorry you've been having a rough time of it lately, Leia."

She tried to ignore the way his use of her name made her feel – like butter, like a rare warm day, like herself. "It's nothing, I'm fine."

"It isn't nothing, and you aren't fine. Just." He caught her eye carefully. "It's okay, alright?"

She looked away. "Who is this tender Han Solo – where did he come from?"

"Tender, huh?"

"You're being very kind," she murmured.

"Not very kind. Just observant."

"No. Kind." She sighed softly. "For checking on me, coming after me. Thinking of me. For. Everything."

"Everything, you say?" he said, teasing softly.

"Brightening my grim plight of an existence," she quipped. "You are kind. You think you aren't, or rather you like to pretend that you aren't, but you are."

"You know everything about me, then?" he echoed quietly, teasing.

"I know enough."

He was very close to her then, his eyes bright and engaged, not mischievous or wry. "Enough to what?"

"To know you're worth spending time with, I suppose," she murmured.

He gave her a crooked smile. "Well. You are too. Worth three years at least, you could say."

"At least?" Her voice trembled only the slightest bit. _How much longer will you be here, Han? How much longer will you stick around? And what will happen to me – not if you leave, even, but if you stay?_

"Mm. Mhm." He leaned just a tad closer, tucked a piece of her hand behind her ear, and she felt her heart pick up even greater speed. _What if you leave, what if you stay, what if you leave, what if you stay?_ "Leia?" he said softly, looking at her intently.

She bit her lip, looking at him with wide eyes: _what if you leave, what if you stay, what if you leave, what if you––_

"Leia, can I kiss you?"

She felt weightless, she felt bloodless, she felt so happy and so, so unhappy and––

"Oh, Han," she whispered. "Why did you have to ask?"

His voice was lower, more masculine than she'd ever heard it, and she felt her stomach surge. "Sweetheart––"

"If you hadn't asked I – but I can't – no, Han."

"But––"

"If it had just happened? Had been something that happened, if I hadn't had time to think, I would've – I can't––"

"I just…" he said in that same voice, touching her hair just barely, "I didn't want to spook you."

"Spook me?"

He gave an uneasy, sympathetic half-laugh. "'Cause I know a lot about you, remember?"

She felt her whole body surge with overwhelming sadness and relief and warmth and anxiety – had forgotten about her nasty, hissed confession to him just hours after they met, when she'd torn into him for calling her _sweetheart_. Had forgotten she told him that awful thing while deliriously tired and devastated, the thing so awful she shut down whenever thinking about it, the thing nobody knew except for medical and, apparently him. The thing he'd never forgotten, apparently, even though he'd never said a word. Or looked at her like she was pathetic, or fucked up, or unfortunate–– "Oh, _Han_."

She felt her head nod forward uncontrollably, resting the top of her head on his chest. He was incredibly still, as though he was trying not to move – as though shifting just slightly would make her catch herself and jerk away. After a moment, he put one arm gently around her waist, his other hand patting, then petting, her back.

She wasn't crying, or shaking. She wasn't even sad. She was just – tired. So, so…

"I could fall asleep like this," she whispered in spite of herself.

He laughed quietly, and she could feel the vibration of that laugh. "Not like I have anywhere to be."

"Mm." She moved just the teensiest bit closer and closed her eyes.

He stroked her hair lightly, his breathing slow – she could guess the expression on his face. Stoic, restrained, unreadable. Looking straight ahead. But she could read him. He was right, she knew him, just like he knew her. She did.

"Han?" she murmured.

"Yeah, princess?"

"Thank you," she said quietly. He knew her. She knew him. Something like lovers, something like friends. Everything blurred together here, the way you couldn't tell the snowy landscape from the snowy sky. "For asking."


	5. Ready

**Ready**

 **"I'm pregnant."**

She wasn't the type to talk to ghosts (that was her brother) or pray to spirits – her religious sensibilities were less the product of sincere belief and more the result of ingrained childhood education – she found ritual and holy things a bit of a drag. Or that was the cavalier way of putting it, and Leia was forever leaning into the cavalier way of putting the things that made her especially anxious or angry or both.

They were a bit of a drag because she'd learned long ago – well, five years ago to be precise – that to place too much emotional significance in any object or place, any material thing, was to set yourself up to fail. She disliked gifts for this reason, and liked wearing issued outfits only for it as well. Didn't need her heart broken by the pain of losing a favorite, flattering skirt. (Or favorite ship – didn't Han realize that every time he fell deeper in love with this ridiculous hunk of metal he was putting his heart just a bit more on the line?) She had no special things, or special places, anymore and in this way she was a little bit more protected.

But. Even someone as deliberately unsentimental and unspiritual as her had to admit that it meant something to pass, even just for a half hour or so, this particular collection of asteroids and dust. That they were flying near what had been Alderaan on _this_ day of all days was an uncomfortable, emotional coincidence. Or was it? Maybe there was a reason she'd suddenly felt like she couldn't keep it in any longer – had it been because she was vulnerable and on edge knowing that they would be near home? That the ash of everyone she ever knew might be perversely spraying up against the Falcon – no, no, she couldn't think that way––

She'd meant to tell Han when they were back on Home One, when they had time, when she could perfectly choreograph this revelation. It had been hideously awful to figure it out with a crappy disposable test on a distant planet and it had left her reeling and she wasn't going to do that to him when they still had to navigate back. And yet. After lurching into the first jump of hyper when he'd ask "Y'okay?" _like he always did,_ he _always a_ sked this because she was known to get nauseous, she should've _anticipated_ it, she'd blurted it out: that she was pregnant, that she was panicking, that she loved him, that she was sorry.

Sorry? Don't be _sorry – (_ he'd said, appearing momentarily anchored by his need to soothe her before actually facing the reality of what she'd said,) Don't be _sorry_ , Kriff Leia, of all things – don't be _sorry_ ––

When they were coming up on Alderaan she told him she needed a moment alone, and he let her take it, kissing her before she drifted to a turret, her private place of choice. She looked out into the bright, glittering world outside their tiny, rusty home. Began to see space rock in the distance, debris – was that it? Was that – that was it? Could that be it, there, that dust, that ash? Her mother, her best friend, the peeling white dresser in her childhood bedroom––

She wasn't sentimental and she wasn't spiritual and she had never done something like this, before – talked to them, tried to talk to them, really – Luke was forever imagining the advice his aunt might give but Leia kept her memories of her family locked firmly in her past. And yet, as her fingers rattled against the bracing of the window she found herself whimpering and the voice in her head calling out, _Mama, I'm pregnant. Mama, I'm pregnant. Come back to me please, what do I do?_

 _What do I do, for nausea? What do I do, to be a mother? How do I give someone what I spent my whole life unknowingly receiving from you?_

She'd never imagined this conversation – was pretty firm on not wanting children, or otherwise assumed it was at least a decade off – they'd died when she was _nineteen_ , she'd never––

What would her mother say? _My darling, am I really that old? Surely I'm too young to be a grandmother!_

And hug her – embrace her – maybe cry, her mother did happy-cry sometimes at things like this – she never talked to her mother about women's things, not since her first period – learned a lot of what she knew from sneaking copies of _Cosmology_ and consumingMadame Alekcandra's sex advice column – maybe that would've changed, maybe her mother would've told her secret things about what it meant to be a woman, have a child, things she never got to learn––

 _Mama I'm pregnant. Mama, you're going to be a grandmother. Mama the father? He's so, so good. You'd like him, he's funny, he's handsome and smart. He'll never leave me. He'll be such a good father._

Would her mother have stayed with them? Her mother's mother had stayed with them for the first month of her life, she knew – helping, advising, keeping company. And Leia's father had snuck out of meetings claiming important calls to play with her, feed her, holding her as an infant. Marvel, love her…

 _Daddy I'm pregnant, going to be married I think. Daddy you'd love him – he's wickedly smart and he doesn't take shit. Perceptive and sly and noble, righteous, even though he likes to act like he isn't – treats everyone the same, no matter their status. He looks after me, admires me, thinks I'm smart like you did, calls me the same thing – brilliant, brilliant, "fuckin' brilliant." My brother will walk me, I think – you know about him, don't you? Knew about him. He'll do it instead of you? I'm sorry, I'm sorry…_

 _And I can see you holding a – my – our – baby – tickling her, making her laugh, beaming. Can see you being overjoyed – with Mam, who'd be laughing, delighted, making me flush. Telling me to ease up, take a nap, don't worry – don't worry, Lelila, we've got her, yes we do. Go rest, shoo._

 _My life, not for the first time, feels like two neat halves. How can it be possible for me to have a child who never knows you? How can it be possible for you to never know my child?_

"Oh," she said aloud as they lurched closer to the debris. "Oh, is that you?"

Han was sitting in the cockpit, trying to focus on the tricky navigational turns, but his mind was racing. 'Switch with me, Chewie," he said, trying to keep his voice easy, "I can't focus right." They were doing the thing they often did when Han and Leia were dealing with something serious as a couple while in these close quarters – which was to say, pretending that Chewie hadn't heard every word of their conversation. Chewie knew his friend and knew Han would tell him directly when he was ready to talk, didn't mind giving him his space.

Chewie grunted his ascent and the two switched spots, Han taking the lower-key co-pilot responsibilities and letting Chewie do the steering. Leia was going to have a baby. His baby. They were going to have a baby together. Him and Leia – him and his best friend. ( _Sorry pal,_ he thought lightly in Chewie's direction. _She's just too fuckin' brilliant._ )

He didn't know what she was doing up in the turret but he could guess – she'd had that look she got when she was thinking about home. Private and vulnerable and suddenly nineteen. He couldn't begin to guess how she was feeling – she'd grown up surrounded by family, endless cousins and aunts she was always dropping into conversation by accident, her face falling when he'd have to ask her to remind him about. And now – one long-lost twin brother, one smuggler boyfriend, one Wookiee. And a baby, he corrected himself with a surprising amount of emotion – quiet inside her, who'd never know her parents, her family, her home.

 _She's going to have a baby,_ he thought in the general direction of the swirling, dangerous collision of rock outside. Peaceful Alderaan, turned into a hazard for pilots and their pregnant princesses – a fucked up kind of irony. _Our baby – and she's going to be so, so good. We're going to be good. We're going to do it right._

 _We're going to do it right,_ he thought, directing his thoughts more specifically on what he knew of her parents. _We've been through a lot together, and we know what – support means. Responsibility means. She wants to make you proud. And she will._

 _And I'll do my best –_ he sighed, breathing heavily – _'cause I know it's probably hard to trust your daughter, you know, with a guy you haven't met who's ten years older than her and uh, not royalty, to say the least – but I know what it's like to be on my own and see a mom on her own and I won't let that happen to her. Them._

 _You raised her to be so damn brave and self-reliant and strong – how did you_ do _that? Could you maybe let us in on the secret, if you get the chance?_

 _This scruffy little family is a lot smaller but we'll love them enough for everyone – promise – look after them and support them and give them whatever they need to be brilliant. Can you let me in on how to raise a kid to be so incredibly brilliant? So fucking kind?_

 _Won't say I'll look after her 'cause she'll look after herself. And I'm not her protector, we're partners. Won't say I'll stand by her because I'll do a helluva lot more than just not bail – who is it anyway, who made it so that all a dad is supposed to do is just stick around, and that's enough? But I dunno – somewhere in this spinning, ugly debris was something you built that helped her grow up into someone so good. So I'll say I'll do my best to build that. I can build things. That I can do._

His thoughts were interrupted by Chewie reminding him that they had to make the jump to hyper. He called as much to Leia.

"That okay, princess? You okay to go?"

 _You okay to leave this place, to lurch into this whole new life spilling out before us?_

She didn't call back, but in a moment she was beside him.

"Yes," she said, looking at him and taking a deep breath and giving him a small smile. "Yes, I'm ready."

 _I honestly have so many pieces ft. Leia saying "I'm pregnant" – check out Everybody's, Gravity, and Orbit for more._


	6. Safe

_References to sexual violence per my typical 'verse (again, see Sweetheart)._

 **Safe**

 **"Please don't cry. I can't stand to see you cry."**

For the first few hours they danced around it because there were more important things to do, like hydrate him first of all, and catch their breaths, and break the _it's been six months_ news, and get back to the Falcon and off of this hideous planet, a place she would never, ever return to if she could help it. During that time she put someone's vest on top and zipped up a jacket around her waist and everyone did a wonderful job of pretending that she didn't look ridiculous, which she appreciated, and which she preferred to everyone pretending they couldn't see her and making a big show of not looking at her but didn't they know that made her feel even more seen?

And while wearing this makeshift outfit she thought not for the first time about the strange loneliness of being a small young woman in a large galaxy, where always in the back of your mind was the thought of how am I going to find underwear, and where is my menstrual cup, and what special degradation will be promised to me, will set me _apart_? And normally she would feel so apart, Leia of the past six months with the secret of a forty-day tryst and a hideous loneliness inside her, except… _Except_ ––

Except Han was back. Here. Back. _Here_. Wrapped up tight in a blanket, her doing, on that bunk that had shifted from his to theirs so quickly it was seamless and blinding. Still bleary-eyed and tired and confused but _here_ , after so many months here, peering up at her fussing over him and just looking at her, mumbling that he loved her every so often because he could, hers and––

"Hey princess? D'you eat today?" he said, squinting up at her.

And saying that again. In that voice of his… _Oh_ …

"Yes," she murmured, running her fingers through his hair. "I had a ration bar just before you showered."

He nodded seriously as best as he could. "Good."

"Good," she repeated, even though that didn't make any sense. She couldn't stop looking at him – he was back, here, back, here…

He reached out to her and rested his hands on her waist as though to hold her, but she could feel the way his hands were making subtle work of searching her hips for the chain. Subtle work like he was trying not to embarrass her, make her uncomfortable. "You gonna shower?"

"I want to make sure you're situated."

"M'situated… Leia…" _Oh_ , and how he said her name… "You can – take a minute. Y'know. Get cleaned up. I'll be fine." He rubbed the raw divots in her skin on her hips just barely, his expression drawn and tight.

She knew it had been stupid but the image in her mind of this reunion had been something closer to that ill-fated kiss – her sweeping him up in her arms, dramatic, sexy, sweaty and desperate and intense but bold, her swooping in – after she saved him maybe not sex, she knew that was unlikely, but something other than feeling anxious and uneasy – maybe holding each other close, murmuring, he wasn't vomiting and sweating and he wasn't looking at her in this knit-brow way, and she didn't feel so nervous on his behalf––

And she wouldn't have spent hours rigid and taut and feeling anxious, feeling like she had failed him damned him, practically guaranteed his death – hours she marked by thinking Han should be hydrating right now, Han should be resting, how could I have been so _stupid_ ––

"I need cutters," she admitted in a low voice, straightening her spine each time he softly pressed another tender spot. Remembering how even when made to lounge she'd kept impeccable posture.

"Grey box with the red stripe. Probably the––" Very subtly, almost without moving and without changing his expression, his fingers shifted to feel the width of the band. "Second biggest," he finished without missing a beat.

"Okay," she said, sucking in a breath. She kissed his forehead. "I'll be right back."

She found the box easily, grabbed the second largest cutters. They were quite large. She took them into the 'fresher and slipped them to grip the strap of the top. Tried to stand in a way so she couldn't be able to see her reflection. Thought about what it felt like to be saved from certain death by being a woman, by having the body of a woman. Some kind of saving. Some saving. How had she been so stupid to think she could save him all on her own? Someone like a woman, someone having the body of a woman? She squeezed _hard_.

Nothing. Fuck it all.

She readjusted her grasp, squeezed again. Please, please, please––

Nothing. Her hands ached painfully, the cutters exacerbating the hideous burst callouses from when she'd yanked that stupid chain, but she tried again, squeezing so she shut her eyes, too – _please! Please! Please!_

If she could at least cut herself out of this fucking degrading filth, if she could at least be the one to splinter it into a million pieces, if she could at least be the one to cut herself free then she was – she would be – everything would be––

She squeezed again even as she felt blood on her palms and thought of the hideous paralysis when they'd raced away from the barge, the moment where she couldn't decide if she would let herself stay stuck in the slick, ugly hairstyle someone else had put her in to make her more fuckable or else take her hair down in front of all these people so to restyle it, even if they were her friends they weren't all Han and they weren't her family, that paralysis made her so angry, why did she have to choose between two options that made her feel disgusting, if she hadn't been a woman had the body of a woman they would've locked her with Han and Chewie and she could've tended to him, she could've––

Her hands were bloody and they hurt. She'd made a small indent in the strap but nothing else. Why did she feel so impotent? Why was she so – if she were stronger she could––

But that wasn't right. It wasn't. She stilled her trembling hands and washed them in sink. She closed her eyes and she thought about how she had murdered her lover's torturer and she'd done it with ease. She scrubbed her hands and she remembered how there'd been a third option: how she'd wrapped the ugly twist into a bun. Something else, something new, her own choice. How she _had_ ensured Han's rescue, herself, doggedly tracking and tracing for six months, obsessed and never giving up and here he was, she _did_ that!

She _did_ that. She wrapped a towel around herself and took the cutters back to his cabin. Said, "Han? It's me."

"Hey. How'd it––"

"Can you do it?" she blurted out. "I tried and with my hands I can't––"

"'Course," he said, sitting up as best he could. "Yeah, I can do that."

"Thank you," she said softly, and she dropped the towel and walked over to beside the bunk, grimacing at the rustle of the silken fabric against her legs, the sound she made when moving. Like something whose location someone else would always be able to known.

She handed him the cutters and guided him to the spot she'd weakened, her back to him slightly. She bit her lip and he dropped his head slightly, so his forehead was resting on her bare lower back.

"Feel like," he mumbled, barely audible, into her back, "failed you."

"Failed me?" she said faintly.

"Put you through that again."

"Again? You've been in carbonite another time and I merely forgot?"

"Leia…"

"This was nothing like that. This was nothing, Han, really."

"What happened, sweetheart."

"Nothing happened, no one touched me like that."

"Those're… two different things."

"They just tried to scare me," she said softly. "Stripped me and groped me a bit. It was nothing. Comparably? It was––"

"That's not the – I just don't – I hate that you were. Were scared." She could hear him inhaling sharply. "I _hate_ that so _fucking_ much."

"It was worth it," she said suddenly, without thinking. "I'd do it again – to have you back? You don't know – six _months_ , Han––"

Suddenly she jolted at the sharp sound of metal shrieking. He touched her hip lightly and she turned and he cut the other side and she carefully stepped out of it, glancing briefly at the angry red indents at her crotch and below her hips.

"Top now or do you want to put on some pants first?" he said, peering up at her and blinking rapidly.

"Pants first," she said, and she rifled through his drawers to find a pair of his boxers, pulled them on.

"Don't say that 'worth it' stuff, please," he said hoarsely. "I can't – think of. Of you getting me out – like I had to bargain away your."

"My what?" she said tightly, moving back over so he could cut the top.

"Sense of – security," he settled on after struggling. "I don't – I would never – make that fucking _exchange_."

"Sense of security is nothing, Han," she said before guiding his hands. "We lead – dangerous lives, we – here, let me move my hair – right there, yes." Grimaced a bit as he cut.

"You don't get it," he mumbled, very slowly moving to kiss her shoulder blade – so slowly, so tenderly, like the first time they'd slept together on the way to Bespin, how he'd moved almost at half speed so she could anticipate every movement and every sensation without her even having to ask… said is it okay if I touch you like this, is this alright princess, said how does this feel, what about this – _good_ , she'd gasped in a near-revelation, _good, oh gods it feels so good…!_ "I don't – I don't just want bad things to not happen to you anymore, Leia," he said against her sunburnt skin, his voice almost shaking. "I want you to know that. I want you to feel that."

She pulled off the top and grabbed a nearby shirt, caught off guard by the emotion in his voice. _Please don't cry,_ she thought suddenly, even though she'd never seen him do so, even though he wasn't – he just looked so – distraught… _I can't stand to see you cry._

"Want you to _feel_ safe," he said again in that choking voice. "Want you to _feel_ secure – I––"

"Yes, love," she said, crawling into bed next to him even though she was still sweaty and smelling awful and sandy and raw. _With you, I do feel safe,_ she thought in a bright, clear revelation. Not because she was small and weak and needed him – but because he made her feel strong, secure in herself – not only like he would look after her but also like, when she was with him, she was a person strong enough and tough enough to look after herself. Take matters and chains into her own hands, feel ready and strong and purposeful, like when she'd been sitting on that horrid throne and suddenly straightened herself, readied herself, focused herself once she saw him – capable of saving him and saving herself. Of getting back up. "Yes, I understand."


	7. Aftercare

Sexual content but nothing titillating.

 **Aftercare**

" **How can you still look so attractive while crying."**

He brushed a piece of damp hair away from her face and at just that she shivered. Her body felt like an expanse of nerve endings – every part of her, even the most innocuous ones, capable of being lit up when touched in a certain way. All of her trembling and quaking and reeling. He pressed his lips to her shoulder and murmured, his voice low and content, "How can you still look so attractive while crying…"

She felt a quiet flush creep into her features, as slow and languid as she felt now, trying to come up with something witty, failing, her whole body spent and liquid. Settled for a lame, "Not crying…" She swept lamely at the wetness under her eyes, then shut them.

"S'okay, I don't mind." His voice was like hers: low and husky and sleepy.

"Just… overwhelmed…"

"Mm…" He pressed another kiss into her shoulder, tightened his hold on her. "Not hurting or anything?"

She took a moment to try to focus on checking in with her body, to stop being distracted by the hot bright feeling of him curled around her, his breath against her neck, the improbable flash of embarrassment and thrill that she felt when she saw their clothes tossed across the cabin's floor. He had been – bigger than she anticipated, she thought with another bright flash of thrilled mortification, but no, she wasn't – "No," she breathed. All these tones her voice could take that she never realized – breathy, airy, low… "I feel – perfect."

He groaned softly into her shoulder. "Good. You are."

"Cloying," she teased softly, snuggling closer to him, "Saccharine…"

"Don't give a crap, it's still true."

"You're not too bad yourself…"

He laughed, a low rush of breath against her ear, making her tremble again. "Mm – you always get weepy after you come, or m'I just special like that?"

She curled up tighter, and he held her tighter in response. "It's not really something I'm terribly familiar with…"

She could feel his posture shift just slightly. "Not even when you––?"

"I don't really, anymore," she murmured into the pillow, his pillow. "Since."

He exhaled heavily and pressed slow kisses into her hair. They laid in silence for a moment. Then she could feel him slowly, everything he'd done had been incredibly slow and marked by a thoughtfulness that made her ache, move his hands up to her face and carefully wipe under her eyes. "Gorgeous," he mumbled. "Beautiful."

She swallowed back another flood of emotion – had she really cried? Was she really _that_ girl, who teared up after sex, who for the just-after kisses had a damp face and was shaky, her shoulders quivering, her lips trembling, spastic and moved and on edge and flooded with feeling––

"It'll be better," she promised softly, "next time. I won't get so… I'm sorry…"

"So you're saying there'll be a next time?" he teased, and she rolled her eyes just a bit. "There's nothing to be sorry about. Dunno what you're talking about."

"I don't think I'll always be so. On edge," she clarified, her voice getting softer still.

"Don't care," he said seriously. "Seriously, princess, I don't––"

"I don't mean to be so high maintenance, i mean," she practically whispered.

"You're not. Here, s'it okay if I––" He moved to turn her to face him, and she nodded, and he did, kissing her forehead and holding her close. "You're stunning, you're sexy, you're so –…" He frowned, chewing on his lip for a second as if trying to figure out how to articulate himself. "You know that was – really – damn – good for me, right?"

She closed her eyes. "Don't want you to have to be careful…"

"You're – damn important to – do you know how long i've wanted to – I was always going to be _careful_ , sweetheart," he laughed into her hair. "I want it all to be," he carefully tilted her chin up, kissed her softly, "perfect. Alright?"

"I just––" _I just wish I could be like you, I wish I could be casual, I wish I could no-big-deal this, I wish–– "Crying_ afterwards _,_ Han – it's so – _mortifying_ , I can't believe––"

"I like," he said, kissing her again, "that it," and again, "means," again, "something," again, "to you." Once more, then, "Don't care how you show it, don't think any less of you for getting a little teary. Love – this," he said, catching himself quickly. "Was perfect, you're perfect."

"More perfect next time," she promised, "okay?"

"Can't really imagine that, but I'll take your word for it."


	8. Friends

_So quintessential Han/Leia angst it hurts._

 **Friends**

" **We're not just friends and you fucking know it."**

Sort of a routine at this point, most of Red Squadron and some other not-always-diligent recruits, Luke the most reluctant participant, squatting behind columns and slipping behind door frames to witness the latest, greatest spat between the princess and the smuggler. If the Rebellion's intel on the Empire was even half as good as the recruits' on the two of them, this fight would've been over ages ago.

And this one? Well, seeing as it was happening the day after one of the more raucous social gatherings they'd had on this base, a gathering that had featured a rare appearance by the icy princess and the even rarer appearance of a drink – more than one drink! – in her hand…. Plied by liquor and the not insignificant victory they'd had securing a major trade route, she'd been dancing too, very chastely and very old-fashionedly, like with steps and all, shit, but laughing and dancing nonetheless – with Kes Dameron, with Luke, with Han towards the end of the night.

Given all that, it was sure to be a doozy. And from what the small group – Wedge, Luke, Wes this time – assembled outside of Leia's cabin – he was _in her cabin –_ could tell, a doozy it seemed to be.

"I don't know what you want me to say," Leia was snapping, her voice muffled with exhaustion. "I had a nice time yesterday and I don't know why you're insistent on spoiling it – although honestly, how typical––"

" _Typical? Spoiling_ it? I'm the one who _dragged_ you there––"

"Dragged me, hm? Were you the one handing me all those drinks as well then, captain?"

"Why are you always falling back on that crap? That – those _insinuations_ or whatever – Kriff, Leia, you make me out to be a real creep sometimes!"

"Stop that," she said, lowering her voice slightly, "you know I don't think you're a creep or anything like that––"

"I wasn't _trying_ to get you drunk! I would never––"

"Lower your voice, please––"

"Oh _hell_ ––"

"Lower your _voice,_ Han––!"

"We're just two people in a room, sweetheart, it's not a damn scandal––"

"It's not even that! I mean – I mean I'm… ah, I'm a bit hungover," she mumbled, and they could hear Han exhale, laughing slightly.

"Mm, right. Princesses don't have a high alcohol tolerance, I forgot. 'Specially when they're child-sized."

"I'm not a child," she said indignantly.

"Didn't say child, said child-sized." His voice was lower, and the three listeners glanced at each other, eyebrows high.

"Because that's _so_ much better…"

"Well, you're short enough to spin, right? Makes your a great dance partner."

"I really – I did have a nice time yesterday. Thank you. For dragging me, I mean." She sounded like she was sighing, resolving herself. "But I really have no interest in talking about whatever you've gotten in your head about––"

"Damn, you just can't help closing off, can you?"

"I'm not _closed off._ I'm – closed off _to you,_ on the subject of _this_ ––"

"'Cause of all the people here, I'm the one who deserves that most of all, right."

"Oh, so now you _deserve_ ––"

"Leia! I fucking – you take my cabin in the Falcon for missions and I – make you tea when you get up in the middle of the night, calm you down, I steer you when you sleepwalk – you can't act like I'm some random––!"

"And I've so appreciated that, but––"

"I mean no offense, sweetheart? But you really hurt my feelings! I mean what the hell––"

"I told you I had to use the restroom––"

"Yeah – right after we almost kissed and then you _never came back_ – that sort of thing _hurts_ , dammit, I'm not made of steel––"

" _We did not almost kiss_ ," she hissed. "We – were dancing, we were dancing and as a result were – very close––"

He snorted: "You were on your fucking tiptoes!"

"And I told you, I had to––"

"You fucking fled, sweetheart! You _fled_ ––"

"I did not flee! I do not flee!"

"You fled from _me_ ––!"

"Not everything is about _you_ , captain––"

His voice dropped infinite octaves: "Did I – I didn't mean to freak you out, with everything – considered, I––"

"Han!" she practically shrieked, then steadied herself and spoke in a cold, clear, strict voice. "Han. It has nothing to do with that."

"You _fled._ Leia, I couldn't live with myself if I thought I––"

"Listen. I quite appreciate your concern – you're a kind friend – but I really am okay, I got distracted by something else, I felt ill, _I did not flee_ ––"

"Oh, screw that – we're not just friends and you fucking know it!"

"You're being absurd, you're––"

"I _care_ about you, I was _worried_ about you, why is that so hard to under––"

Just then, Wedge, who had been leaning on Luke hear better, slipped, creating a rather large crashing sound – Leia immediately said, "Stop. Wait."

She swung the door open just after the three spies had lurched to their feet, and narrowed her eyes. "Captain," she said stiffly to Han, "thank you so much for meeting with me so early to discuss the––"

"Oh, fuck all that, Leia, seriously? Kriff." Han stalked out of the room, leaving Leia with her arms crossed in the doorway.

"There's nothing to see here," she said icily, and the door closed again.


	9. Almosts

_Sexual content here but again, no titillation. Mild allusions to sexual violence if you squint._

 **Almosts**

 **"Cuddle me."**

"––Okay?"

"Mm – mmhmm––"

"Okay––…"

"Mm––"

"…Relax, sweetheart––"

"I – mh _m –_ so relaxed, ah…"

"We can––"

"No I – want – to, m'relaxed, I––"

"If you maybe––?"

"I don't think my leg can–– _ah––_ "

"Mmph – s'alrigh––?"

" _Yes_ I – yes, keep––"

"Okay – okay…"

" _Ah––_ "

" _Leia_ – fuck––"

"Yes – mhmm – ah – _MMPH_ nope nope –nope-I-changed-my-mind-I––"

He was off of her instantly and then she was sitting up with her knees drawn, struggling to catch her breath. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she gasped, mortification flooding her features. "I'm sorry, I'll be – we can try again in – I'm sorry – sorry it – it started to – to hurt all of the sudden and I panicked but––"

"Well, it's definitely not supposed to hurt," he agreed, frowning but resting a hand on her knee, too light to be possessive, just right. "I'm really sorry, I––"

"No-no-it's-fine…" The words tumbled out too fast, too high, and she gave him a shaky, slightly frantic smile. "It's fine, it really is, I'm so _embarrassed,_ I'm so sorry––"

"Don't be sorry, should always stop if something hurts." He gave her knee a light squeeze. "Y'okay?"

"Yes, I'm really fine, I'm fine," she repeated, her speech still so rushed. "I don't know what––"

"Just relax, alright? You want some water?"

"No, I'm okay, I – I want to – I feel so _bad –_ I feel so _embarrassed_ ––" She couldn't quite put her finger on it – it wasn't the pain or the panic or that she thought there was any chance he'd be upset with her, it was just – there was something so mortifying about – backing out? Almost like – she felt like she was being cowardly? Like if she were braver she'd just have–– "I don't mean to – tease, I do – want – you. Want to. I do, I…"

"Leia. Relax. It's _okay."_ He slung his arm around her and kissed her temple, her cheek, her jaw – light and easy. "And you're not teasing me. It's your first time, and we're figuring it out."

Her lips twitched just slightly at _first time_ and he somehow noticed, frowning for a second, but then the moment was gone. "Right," she said, "I know it's not going to be perfect for the – for our first, I just––"

"Not what I meant. Not figuring-it-out as in, it's gonna be crappy so deal with it, because it's _not_ going to be crappy, I can promise you that, and you never have to just 'deal with' anything with me or anyone else, ever, but you know that. Just mean that – next time we'll just try – some other position, more lube maybe…"

She blushed brilliantly and smushed her face to his shoulder. "I feel so – immature."

"Yeah, I don't think _anyone_ could ever call you immature."

"And selfish, I – I don't know…" She winced and mumbled into his shoulder, "I worry I've left you a bit – uncomfortable…"

He rolled his eyes and kissed her hair before lying back down. "Plenty comfortable here, but I'll tell you what you can do."

She looked stricken and bit her lower lip.

He patted the space next to him, indicating that she should lie down, and grinned at her. "Cuddle me?"

 _Shoutout to anyone who's ever attempted penetrative sex for the first time._


	10. Summer Girl

_This one was very tricky, especially because of the age gap. A rare AU from me – 1981 in New Haven, CT._

 **Summer Girl**

" **What if I told you I've been in love with you since we were kids."**

"Well, sweetheart. You did it."

"Yes," she said, kicking her legs as if daring her nude flats to fall off and clatter to the street below, hit in the end some newly-minted keeper of an Economics degree, some Senator's son and his ponytailed fiancee. Voluminous and blonde, nothing like her ugly Heidi braids. It was truly amazing how Han did this – disappeared from her life for months and months only to come back right when the weather got warm as though nothing had changed. "I did it."

"Summa whatever, right? And first in your major––"

"There are only two other people in the major," she murmured, "so it's not incredibly––"

"First to be first. First year of the program, first in the class. Feel like that's pretty neat."

"Thank you. I thought so." She picked up the bouquet of violets from beside her, picked gently at the petals and let the purple fall onto the tight white dress she'd picked out so adventurously, the one that now felt so ridiculous. "Thank you for these, as well."

"'Course. Glad you like them."

"I do."

"Got them because of––"

"Yes," she said, breaking into a wide, delighted smile and forgetting the fact that she'd been waiting for him to meet her since five at least, reapplying this stupid slutty red lipstick over and over for hours and hours. "My favorite – _Violet! You're turning violet!"_

"'It's not a children's book, you know,'" he teased, imitating her voice. "It's Roald _Dahl_. He's a _British_ author. It's _practically_ literature.' Your whole life a snob."

"My whole life." She pursed her lips, pouted them a bit even though it felt so foolish. "And now I have a diploma that makes it official. I know everything there is to know about Foucault. I am a snob. A snob's snob, actually – as all of the men here are always telling me when I don't fall into bed. Leia Organa, what a self-righteous feminist dyke of a _snob._ "

"Yeah, but you're my self-righteous feminist dyke of a snob," he joked automatically, then frowned. "Sorry – er, that came out wrong."

"Please. You barely tolerate me, same as always."

"Nah, you're alright, princess. S'long as I don't get you started on Betty––"

"Betty Friedan. Yes. Good to know…"

They sat in silence for a long while as she tilted her head from side to side, and he said finally, "It'll be a weird summer without you here. Quiet."

"You think? Will it?"

"Sure, who's going to blabber at me when m'trying to get through Steinbeck? But hey – law school. Damn. Soon you'll be making the big bucks. Can buy books instead of borrow."

"Soon I can pay for a different fucking mechanic," she teased.

"Oh, the graduate swears, does she? Very sophisticated."

 _The Graduate_ , she thought suddenly, flushing brilliantly – _Mrs. Robinson, are you trying to seduce me?_ So much older than him – he was so much older than her––

 _Am I trying to seduce you?_

"Well, Columbia's lucky to have you," he went on. "You'll be a fucking brilliant prosecutor, sweetheart. Taking down the bad guys and shit."

"Thank you," she breathed softly. "Thank you very much."

"'Course."

Another silent moment, and then, just as he was about to open his mouth, she blurted it out: "Han? What if I told you – what if I told you I've been in love with you since we were kids? What would you say? Would you laugh at me."

He was very still. "Laugh at you?"

"Or – that came out wrong because – not since _we_ were – since _I_ was – what would you say if I said I had a crush on you at nine, when you were – twenty- _one_? Something wrong with me, I swear – you in the library – sitting across from you in the library every day of the summer, what––"

"Princess––"

"What if I told you that I hated summer, hated summer because school was over and after my parents passed I had nowhere to be, because you know school was my only place, but summer was okay because the cute _man_ who fixed cars and flirted with the girl at the front desk and was so _handsome_ would be in the library? That I know every book I know in terms of the joke you made about the title – 'a tree may grow in Brooklyn but a fucking blade of grass can't grow in New Haven in this heat I'll tell you that' – that I loved the glamorous girlfriend you had when I was thirteen who took pity on me, taught me how to do eyeliner? The next one who bought me beer? Loved you when I was studying for the S-A-fucking-Ts––"

"Leia, shit––"

"What if I told you – you've been tangled through my whole body – my whole story of growing up – of what stupid bell-bottoms I wore, my stupid platform shoes – that I don't know how to tease you out?"

" _Leia_ ––"

"That I can't think of summer without you, that I don't know if leaving New Haven and leaving childhood and moving on means I have to leave you too – but then again I never had you – it's getting warm out, Han, will you and your next girlfriend visit New York, sit in the library with me? Some buxom woman with bright blonde hair teased out to here and her rugged boyfriend who looks like Indiana Jones, take me out to lunch and laugh like I'm a joke? Do you ever even think about me, anyway, or am I just that funny skinny girl who clings to scraps of your affection––"

"Leia, Jesus––!"

She was shaking by then, her fingers drumming frantically against her pale legs. "I don't know, do I mean anything to you at all? Because I feel like a crazy person – you're thirty _what_ now? I feel crazy for – we're not _friends_ , what _are_ we – maybe I'm just your summertime stalker? Have you ever _wanted_ me, do you remember what – I think that one was Lizzy said when she saw that there was a bikini under my shirt – 'look at that popsicle stick's little get-up, Han! Oh my god, she's _flirting_ with you!' Look at – _violet, you're turning violet_ ––"

"Leia, would you just shut the hell up for a second?"

She shut the hell up, shaking hard.

He rubbed his forehead. "You've been drinking, haven't you?"

"I graduated," she murmured. She pointed to the other side of the roof, where an empty champagne bottle was resting.

"Where the – how the hell did you get all this in your head? That you're – my stalker, that I don't care about you?"

"I don't… sometimes you…"

"That I could never want you – of course I _want_ you, what the hell?"

"Of course you––"

"You think I'm happy to see you go? You think I'm not fucking – torn up – and – look, my feelings about you have changed a lot, obviously, Christ – you were practically my kid sister for awhile there but – you're fucking – radiantly beautiful, you're wicked smart and – and it's confusing as hell but I know for certain you mean something to me and that I––"

"I won't go to New York without you kissing me," she declared, her voice clear and loud and unabashed, like petulance, like a lawyer, like a bossy snob kid, like a Yale graduate who'd just drunk an entire bottle of champagne on the first night of the rest of her life. "I won't become a lawyer if you don't kiss me first. Even if you don't love me back. I won't leave this roof."

He kissed her hard and he tasted exactly like she dreamed he would taste, like summer and bright days and discovery.

"And what if I do love you back? Then what?" he said, his voice low and husky.

 _Mrs. Robinson?_ She looked up at him with lidded eyes. "Then there are a few more things I'd like to do on this roof as part of the deal."


	11. Invulnerable

_Mid-ROTJ. Obviously a bit AU. References "Sweetheart." Very very mild allusions to sexual violence at the end._

 **Invulnerable**

" **Well. Yell, scream, say something. Anything."**

In retrospect they might have predicted it if they were paying closer attention, but one of them was pretty ill at the time and none of them were particularly attuned to reading hair for cues. And she was always a bit odd about her hair, anyway – something religious, something about modesty, something about being unmarried or never having had sex – well in retrospect in probably wasn't _that_ – no one really knew, though, and certainly no one was going to ask.

Still – the way on the speeder back to the Falcon she'd been tugging at that high twisted ponytail probably should've been noted, how she pulled at it and made faces like it was an itch she couldn't scratch, how she kept moving to pat down braids and flinching at what she found instead, how she cringed whenever it brushed up against her.

But, you know, there was her pale and puking boyfriend to be concerned with, and also the fact that she was wearing almost nothing at all underneath the borrowed vest and shirt. And they sure as hell were not going to ask her about _that._ She'd let Luke cut the collar around her neck immediately, it became very obvious that she did not want Han to know it had ever existed, but she hadn't been about to strip otherwise.

As Lando and Chewie helped her help Han onto the Falcon she kept doing it, though, twitching her hands around her hair, yanking at it like a spasm or a seizure, scrunching up her nose like something smelled. Which was true – namely, all of them – but probably not the reason for her distaste.

And then she slipped into Han's cabin and was with him for a _long_ time, speaking softly, emerging only to retrieve cutters that she needed his help to use. Bumping into Lando on her way to put them back, holding them up with a morbid little smile. "You'd think they'd want it to be easier to take off, wouldn't you? Though maybe that's the fun of it…" He'd mostly choked in response – what the hell was he supposed to say to _that?_

And still that high pony, her fingers playing with it angrily almost like she didn't know she was doing it, tugging and peeved like at a tag on the inside of a shirt. Drowning in Han's clothes, the collar of the t-shirt not hiding the angry red welts around her neck. Finally Lando mustered up his courage and asked, trying to be casual, "Hairdo not too comfortable, I take it?"

She made that same little smile. "I don't like having it how they did it but I don't want to be forced into taking it down in order to change it."

That did not clear much up for him at all, but he nodded like he understood.

"It's a very clever catch-22 for someone from – where I'm from. Although I doubt they're particularly partial to Alderaanians – surely it's an accident? And anyway, what fun would it be to break in the already broken, am I right?"

"Princess, I––…"

He'd trailed off, hoping she'd interrupt and cover over his inability to articulate everything he wanted to say to her, but she was going to let him finish the sentence, apparently.

"I – I'm sorry you were in those – conditions."

"Don't be sorry, par for the course. I've so appreciated your help these last few months. And anyway, those circumstances were far better than the ones under which we met. Though I think I looked a bit better under the first – or worse, depending on your preferences I suppose."

"I––"

"I should get back to Han. Let me know if there's any more I can do to help out here?"

"Why don't you let _me_ know if there's anything I can do to––"

"No, that's not – actually, do you carry a knife?"

"A – knife?"

"Yes, do you carry a knife? A blade…?"

"Ah – yes, here." He handed it to her, puzzled but eager to do anything to make this conversation less awful and depressing. "Is there something you need––"

"No, I've got it, thank you. I won't do anything stupid with it, promise. I'll only be a few minutes."

The hardened princess slipped to the 'fresher, closing the door loudly behind her. Lando swore under his breath – he'd seen Leia weary and anxious and even despairing before, but never this angry, icy way that others had often told him about. And those welts on her neck…

Just then, Han wandered into the lounge, looking pale and confused but not altogether awful, all things considered. "Hey – where'd she go?" he mumbled.

"'Fresher," Lando said, helping him to a seat and not about to add _with my knife I gave her because she asked and I felt really bad for her and didn't want to ask questions._

Han grunted. "She – got thin," he muttered. "Six _months_ …"

"She was damn worried about you. Didn't sleep much, was nonstop. You're a lucky man."

Han scowled. "Could've worried about me while eating lunch."

Lando wasn't about to leave his half-blind friend alone wandering the ship, so he sat beside him and waited, awkwardly, for Leia's return to from the 'fresher. She was taking a long time, long enough that he was beginning to worry… what could she be doing in there with a _knife_?

And then, suddenly, there she was, knife in one hand. And in the other? Her long ponytail, severed from what was now a severe, cropped, angular haircut.

Han couldn't see much but he could see that, Lando could tell by the way he jerked back almost violently. Probably could also see the way that, without the ever-present frame of thick girlish hair, her face looked thinner and more severe, cheekbones terse and sharp, eyes dark and deadly.

"Well," she said mildly, gazing back at them. "Yell, scream, say something. Anything."

Both men continued to stare at her.

Leia's mouth twitched, something between amusement and displeasure. "I mean, is it _that_ bad?"

"Sweetheart," Han croaked out – "sweetheart, your _hair_ ––"

"I wasn't going to take it down for them, and I wasn't going to leave it like they wanted," she said tightly, moving to return the knife to Lando. He took it from her – her palms were cold. "And besides it's from a place – a place I'm not from anymore. So."

"Princess…" Han was reaching for her and she moved to him obediently, letting him stroke the short, fragile edges of her new cut.

"I am _sick_ of washing fascist cum out of my braids," she whispered, her low voice deadly serious and probably meant for Han's ears only. "I am _done._ "

He flinched with his whole body but kept stroking her short locks as if to ground himself. "Leia… _Leia…"_

"Do you hate it?"

"No, I… No. I don't hate it."

"I feel a lot better," she said, stepping back to run her fingers up and down the long length of braid in her hands. "Less vulnerable."

He pressed his face to her hair and inhaled deeply, said nothing.

"Maybe when your sight is better, you can fix the back for me?" she offered quietly. "It's almost definitely very uneven."

"Yeah," he said slowly, also looking down at that long braid, its full length resting in her hands like a corpse between them. "Yeah, I can do that."

 _For the record, Carrie rocked short hair._


	12. Night Watch

_TW references to sexual violence. Another follow-up to Sweetheart, also somewhat related to Orbit C5: Out There._

 **Night Watch**

" **Is that my shirt?"**

The first time it happened in front of him it was that first overnight mission after Yavin, a supply-run-cum-Intel situation, and coincidentally the first time the group of them had been really reunited for an extended period after their now well-known Death Star escapades. Him, Chewie, the kid and the princess, back on the Falcon, bickering and strategizing and goofing off, playing like old friends even though it'd been just a month, really, that they'd all known each other.

And because he had been in the cockpit contemplating all this, this weird new life of his, gazing out at the streaks of light streaming past them while everyone else slept, he was the last one there when it started – the princess, screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night.

He was quick, though – locking the navigational controls and flipping off his blaster's safety and racing to her cabin – his cabin, right, she was staying his cabin because Luke was in the crew's – where Chewie and Luke were already outside the door, Luke in his pajamas pounding on it and frantically calling her name. Sweet kid, really – taking the time to knock – say "Leia? Leia? What's happening, Leia, can you open the door?

And still that _voice_ , screeching, words finally discernable: _"Please no! PLEASE!"_ Gasping for breath, throat-scraping, voice-cracking: _"DON'T! Please – I hate it, please––"_

He overrode the lock and shoved in immediately, blaster drawn, Luke and Chewie crowding into the tiny cabin after him. In about two seconds it became clear that there was no threat: just the princess, thrashing in her bed – his bed – and slamming herself against the wall over and over and still crying out, now hoarse, tears streaming: _"Please, I hate it, DON'T, please!"_

He didn't know what made him jolt back as if stunned but he did, jerking backwards with wide eyes and almost crashing into Chewie as Luke rushed forward and knelt on the bed beside her: "Leia, Leia, you're dreaming! Wake up, wake up!" She was mostly unintelligible now, just crying, still slamming herself and when Luke tried to reach out for her shoulder to stir her or something she jerked away and then Luke was looking to Han and saying, "I think she's gonna hurt herself, help me!" and Han was staring back at him, still wide-eyed, like _I don't want to get involved with whatever the hell is happening here_ , but she kept thrashing and Luke said "Han, _please_!"

And then he was shoving Luke aside and kneeling on the bed and barking, "Hey, Your Highness, you're dreaming, you're safe, c'mon now, wake up for me, you're safe, c'mon," and he grabbed her shoulders and wrenched her to sitting position and held her there firmly, kept saying, "Wake up, princess, you're okay, wake up––"

And then just before he was considering getting water to pour on her or gods-forbid giving her a light slap, her eyes snapped open. Pupils enormous, gaze frantic, trembling, her hands went right up to his neck without hesitation, and then Chewie was roaring but he was saying "It's fine, it's fine, she's fine" because suddenly Han knew exactly what this was, and he put his hands over hers and very gently moved them from his neck into her lap.

She jolted back, still seeming stunned and out of it, and he watched her take in the three of them crowding into the tiny room before shoving back into the furthest corner of the bunk. She yanked the sheet up to her chin, her knuckles white, and yes, he thought as he scooted backwards on the bed to give her space, he knew exactly what this was.

"Chewie, go – take over on the controls – kid, just – go get her some water alright?" he barked out, then cringed as she cringed at the severity of his tone. "Just – everyone clear out, _now_ ," he finished, trying to make his voice a little softer. He kept his eyes trained on the princess, who was fidgeting in her corner, pupils still too dilated, chewing fiercely at her lip, as Luke and Chewie filed out. He struggled as he tried to to anticipate anything that might set her off – was _everyone clear out_ too – "Leave the door open," he added gruffly, and something swept across her face briefly, he was sure of it – gratitude? Relief?

Leia let the blanket fall to her lap and wiped her eyes, fussed with her hair, looked away. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice low and quivering even as she attempted something like formality. "I didn't mean to cause a scene."

"Not a problem," he said, not moving from his spot a little ways beside her. "Could've given us a head's up though."

"A head's up?" she said, her trembling voice high and breathless.

"That you get nightmares like that. Thought someone was––" He changed tactics mid-sentence – "Thought you might've been in some real trouble."

"Well, now you know," she whispered. "It isn't – they're not always – it's often stress…"

"Right," he said, nodding curtly.

"It's only since––"

"Yeah I figured. Not a big deal, it happens."

"Yes," she agreed, but she was rapidly moving somewhere inside her head, he could tell, her eyes growing vacant and deadened…

"Hey," he interrupted quickly, before she slipped away, "is that my shirt?"

It took her a second to come out of herself. "… what?"

"You're wearing my – really princess, sleepin' in my bed, wearin' my shirt? Wouldn't want folks to get the wrong idea."

She didn't smile, didn't take the bait. "I wanted something with sleeves," she murmured. "The Alliance-issued is a camisole, and… I don't m-m-mind when alone, but – I'm sorry…"

"D'worry. Keep it, suits you. Can – keep it here, for when you're here," he said, trying to keep his voice relaxed and easy. Trying not to think about _how the fuck was he doing this, who did he think he was that he could handle this sort of thing, since when was he the kind of person who coaxed princesses through – whatever that was – night-terror-rape-flashback?_ Given what she'd screamed plus that hissing comment never to be elaborated upon – _"with stormtrooper semen in her hair before you call me sweetheart!"_ – holy _fucking_ shit, he'd thought as she stormed away as quickly as she'd approached him, finding himself inspecting her gait for – what, exactly, he didn't know – and she never mentioned it again but – holy fucking _shit_ ––

Luke tapped lightly on the door and when she gave him an almost – desperate look, like she was begging for something – instantly he realized Luke didn't know anything about this. That she knew Luke didn't know, and that he did – _who did he think he was that he could handle this sort of thing? And why him – why had she told_ him––

He stood up and walked over swiftly to take the cup. "Thanks, kid," he said gruffly, blocking the view of the still trembling, still pale princess wearing his shirt, pulling his sheet up over herself like armor. What had she screamed? _Please no, please no – I hate it, please stop._ Gods dammit, he couldn't get that voice out of his head. Something like that to that tiny – _girl_ , she was just a _girl_ , _fuck_ ––

"Can I – Leia, hey, are you okay?" Clearly Luke was wary of him taking the lead on this, he didn't begrudge him that, why him, her and Luke were practically _chums_ , why––

"I'm okay!" she called out in a quivering high-pitched sing-song, like she was from somewhere else, like she really wanted him to think everything was alright but couldn't keep her voice under control enough. "I'm fine, Han is just – we're just having a good – a g-g-good talk."

"It's under control," Han said flatly. "Go on back to sleep."

"Han…" Luke said in a low voice. "Maybe I should…"

"It's really okay," she was calling, her voice that soprano still, "please go back to sleep, Luke, I'm so sorry to have woken you."

Luke sighed. "Alright. Please wake me up if you need anything, okay? Please?"

"I will," she called, her voice cracking.

"Leave the door open," Han said, and returned to sit beside her, handing her the cup of water. "Drink slow."

"Thank you," she said softly, and she did.

"Do you uh…" he said slowly, re-folding his hands over and over in his lap. Why him – what did he know – how could he possibly say the right – "Do you want to talk about it?"

She shook her head slowly, looking down. "I – can you just tell me what – can you tell me what I said?"

He looked at her carefully.

Her tone was professional but he could tell she was fighting back something like tears. "I need to know what I said. So I can – I don't want – I don't want word to – to spread, or anything…"

"Nothin' specific," he hedged. "Just – you know, 'no.' But that could be anything – you were – you were fucking tortured for information, princess, and people know that."

She nodded to herself. "Anything – anything else? Sometimes I – b-b-bargain?"

"You… bargain?"

"I say um – I've been told I say… – say just because he d-d-d-did doesn't mean you d-d-do – you don't have t-t-to – I won't t-t-tell and haven't you d-d-d-done enough, or––"

She was shaking in earnest, hands flying to her face, and he cut her off – "Understood – none of that, none of that. Nothing like that. Everyone was just worried 'cause of the screaming, that's all – no one is gonna think anything."

"Except you," she mumbled from behind her hands, rocking back and forth.

"'Cept me, and I don't think anything of it. Alright? Never said a thing to anyone, never going to, doesn't – change how I – see you or anything…" He was grasping desperately at cliches, he knew, his voice sounding stilted and performative and flat and still she was rocking and covering her face like a parody of – of _shame_ , she looked so – _ashamed_ , that broke him, what did she have to be ashamed of?

"Hey now," he said awkwardly, carefully moving closer to her like she was some wounded, wild thing. "Hey now, princess… c'mon now…"

"I'm sorry," she was whispering, "I'm so embarrassed, I'm so sorry––"

"Stop that, here, okay? S'alright if I––" He very, very slowly moved to put his arms around her and she melted against his chest instantly, moving to be tight up against him, and after a moment of hesitation he held her tight.

"Shh, now. Shh… you're alright, you're okay, don't be embarrassed. I got you, you're okay…" Words he'd never imagined would come out of his mouth, never mind directed towards a teenage princess in his arms, and yet they came so naturally it was uncanny – like he could tell what she needed – he liked to think he could tell what she needed…

"I'm s-s-s-so very sorry, I didn't m-mean to disturb everyone, I'm s-s-sorry, I didn't mean to make a s-s-scene…"

He found himself stroking her hair, rocking her back and forth gently. "No scene, didn't make a scene, you're alright. I got you, you're alright. Nobody's mad, nobody's bothered. You're okay." He could feel her snot and tears soaking the front of his shirt, could feel her trembling in his grasp – "I got you, Leia, you're okay."

She pulled back for a moment, her face red and bloated and tear-stained and streaked with snot – "You called me Leia," she whispered, her face breaking into a shaky smile.

"Yeah, well. Don't get used to it, I don't want to wear it out."

"If I'd known it took me screaming in the night…" she teased quietly, her voice trembling and hiccuping but the flow of tears seeming to slow.

He resisted the abrupt, startling urge to kiss her hair, instead petted her braid softly. "Like I said, don't get used to it."

She rested her head back against his chest for awhile, then murmured, so soft he almost missed it – "Could you stay? In case it – happens again, tonight?"

He tried to play it off as though it weren't breaking his heart, how small she sounded, how tired. "It _is_ my cabin, princess."

"Even if you just – sat on the edge here? While I… I know it isn't the most comfortable, but…" He could see her face stinging with embarrassment at sounding so weak and it broke him again.

"Hey, beats Chewie's hammock," he said lightly, helping her to lie down like it was no big thing and settling into a decently comfortable position sitting on the space by her feet.

"Thank you," she whispered, shutting her eyes, and he shut his too, if nothing else to reassure her that he was comfortable.

Like hell he was going to sleep. In the morning he did his best to act otherwise, and anyway she'd brush him off as though nothing had happened so there was that, but the truth was he was up all night, keeping vigil, watching for any sign of distress. Didn't know why she'd told him, why she'd trusted him this way, him of all people, but strangely honored that she did. And determined not to make her regret it.


	13. In

_I threatened to write this for months, so here it is. As a head's up, a pretty graphic depiction of inserting a menstrual cup into one's vagina._

 **In**

" **Choose me"**

 _You shouldn't have done this, Leia,_ she thought to herself angrily. _You shouldn't have taken a risk like this. Not for something important, not for today._

 _But that's why you decided to try it today!_ retorted another voice in her head. _You did it_ because _today is important!_

Leia Organa didn't mind wearing white. Most days, in fact, she rather liked it – it reminded her of home, it gave her a tiny sense of control, it felt her feel like maybe she wasn't so terribly changed from the naive, optimistic, righteous girl she'd been before. Even if often she was more often than not wearing many mismatched layers of mismatched cream, it was worth it – worth, too, the ubiquitous teasing from the insufferable captain of the ship whose 'fresher she'd now locked herself into for – gods, a quarter of an hour?

She'd locked herself into it for the few days she _didn't_ appreciate wearing white – namely, four days out of every month, when white became the absolute bane of her existence, right up there with communal autovalets (throwing her stained underthings in _beside_ _others_ '?) and waiting in (the albeit very short, given the sparse numbers of young women in the Alliance) line at medical for her monthly allotment of cheap, bulky, _belt-requiring_ sanitary napkins.

 _Belted?_ she'd said, horrified and skeptical, when they'd handed them to her for the first time. She didn't show her princess colors often, but – _belted?_

 _Standard-issue,_ had been the reply, and not for the last time she wondered how on earth there'd been money for that pretty princess gown for the press on Yavin but not for pads with goddamn _adhesive_. What was this, the dark ages?

(Well, it certainly was a dark age, but…)

Anyway, belted was no good, not at all, not for white, not for a white gown, and not for a white gown worn while giving a speech during an important broadcasted event like the one she (and Han, and Chewie) was now hurdling at lightspeed towards. So when on their last mission she'd seen a corner shop selling those small silicon cups promising _discretion! comfort! no leakage! ease!_ she couldn't resist buying one. _Choose me,_ it seemed to say, the being on the packaging smiling at her and looking like someone who would never again have to run her bloody underwear through Captain Han Solo's autovalet alongside his bloodstripes to conserve water. _Yes,_ she'd said to the little thing, flushing with gratitude for a solution to this ridiculous issue, _I choose you._

Except the damn thing didn't seem to be choosing _her_.

Yes, she knew she was short, was small. And yes, she knew that smallness translated to – other parts of her body. Even if she was a virgin she wasn't wholly unfamiliar with the contours of the place between her legs. And yes, she'd heard the first time getting the thing – in – was tricky. But still – she was a princess, a military leader, an icon of hope and power – _how could she not insert a tiny silicon cup into her own goddamn vagina?_

If only the Falcon wasn't such a mess, if only it was _jerking_ and _bumping_ every five seconds, if only this fucking 'fresher weren't so small that the only way to really get a good angle was to strip off her panties, put one foot up on the sink, one on the floor, lean into an impossibly deep squat, pinch the cup and hold her breath and _shove_ ––

" _Goddammit!"_ Leia cried, tumbling onto her ass and crashing into the door as the Falcon jerked. "What the hell!"

"Such language from a princess!" Damn the captain, damn his smug voice. Closer now – she guessed he'd stepped away from the controls after the jump. "Could ya hurry it up in there? Damned hair and makeup is taking _far_ too long."

"Leave me alone, Han," she snapped.

"No offense, but feel like certain – ah, bodily functions should probably take priority over all your princess primping. So if ya wanna just finish up your lipstick…"

"I'm not doing my makeup! I'll be out in a minute, just _go_ …" She righted herself and tried the same position, feet reversed – foot on the sink, foot on the floor, deep squat, pinch, shove–– "Ow!" she yelped, jumping up and plucking out the halfway-inserted object. Okay, so clearly she hadn't pinched enough––

" _Ow?_ Pull out an eyelash, sweetheart?"

Foot, foot, "Go _away!"_

"Not enough beauty sleep?"

Squat, pinch… "Han, _go!"_

She could practically hear his delighted, mocking grin: "Well, s'what I'm trying to do, sweetheart, but you're still hogging the damn 'fresher, so––"

 _Shove_ –– "Kriff!" she swore loudly – that didn't feel right, not at all – maybe if she just – used her fingers to twist it a bit? Or – if only she could _see_ …

"Hey, is everything alright in there?" Han asked from behind the door, sounding almost – concerned? "You uh––" Was he _flushing_ out there, was he _embarrassed?_ "Need any – help or anything, or––?"

Without thinking, she blurted out, "Could you go into my things and get my hand mirror?" and in an instant she could _literally hear him choking_ ––

"You want me to get your – _hand mirror?!"_ he gasped out, and she burned with embarrassment and frustration. "Uh, if you say so, Your Highness – are you tryin' to do some––" He was practically choking again, as if he couldn't believe his good fortune at the ribald jokes she was practically laying right in his lap, " _Inspectin'?"_

"Fuck it, never mind," she hissed, and steadied herself, this time squatting low with both feet far apart on the floor. "Never mind!" she called a little louder. "It was for my _hair_ , for seeing the back of my _hair,_ but never––"

"Then can you let me _in_ already? Like I said, I gotta––"

"I said _just a_ _minute."_

"Said that five minutes ago – don't make me override the lock, princess!"

"You wouldn't dare," she snapped, feeling around a bit between her legs – yes, this time she'd be strategic… "And anyway, I've just as much right as you to be in here––"

"Like hell you do! It's _my ship_!"

 _Squat…_ "Right now it's under the Alliance––"

"The Alliance's domain! The Falcon? Are you _kidding_ me?"

 _Pinch…_ "And _technically,_ because I rank _higher_ than you––"

She could hear him _growl_ outside that door, banging his fist against the door _._ "You're a real goddamn piece of work, aren't you?"

"Therefore I–– _HAN!" And SHOVE_ because then the door was wide open and she was squatting spread wide with her hand between her legs but she was covered up by the long skirt of the white dress – "Han Solo, what in _seven star systems do you think you're_ ––"

"What the – Kriff! You said you were – _fuck!_ Sorry! _Damn!_ I'm sorry!" He was leaping back, mortified, but she was too busy realizing that _it was in, she'd gotten it in!_

Leia stood up ramrod straight and stuck up her chin and washed her hands before striding out of the 'fresher. "All yours," she said, flashing him a superior smile. "So sorry about the delay."

He was bright red, still, and fuming, and stormed to the 'fresher without a word, slamming the door behind him, and as she laughed to herself at his outlandish reaction she realized that for the first time in weeks she was actually _beaming._

That is, of course, until the 'fresher door swung open. And then there was Han Solo, wearing a smug smirk of his own to match hers, lounging in the doorway and dangling from his hand her left-behind white panties.

"Forget something, Your Worship?"

She stormed over and snatched them from his hands, just as mortified as he was a second ago. Even, then. In a rare moment of contentment the thought flashed through her head that for this single moment there was nowhere she'd rather be than smirking and sparring with this strange, outrageous insufferable man.

 _I actually agree with the headcanon that they have some kind of injectable with which to deal with periods within the Alliance. But I do have such a blast remembering that Star Wars was made in the 70s and thus writing fic accordingly (with belted pads going out of style for adhesives, for example)._


	14. The Long Year

_I'm not sure where this come from, and Leia technically isn't in it, but I think it counts as Han/Leia. Anyway, it's my favorite in this collection._

 **The Long Year**

" **Stop pretending you're okay, cause I know you're not."**

It was getting to the part with her mother's big emotional address and whatnot when he started noticing that she was white-knuckling through the service, or white-knuckling as much as a nine-year-old can, which is to say she looked the same mixed-up way she always did – features so small and girlish, expression so world-weary. Wispy ash-blonde hair – _blonde as hell, some other guy you wanna tell me about princess?_ – pulled back in those neat double buns, for once out of her face so he could see her expression pretty clearly. Something like the kid version of enduring, of _pushing through._

Right around when the sermon ended and Leia got up – got up in that black lace dress with its black lace hood up, plunging her drawn features into shadow, the one she wore every year, the one hanging a little loose on her after this long year – he got up too, and he took the kid a little rough by her arm and shuffled her out the door after brief eye contact with his wife, didn't say a word until they were in the little field outside the temple, next to the pond with the bright blue fish that had delighted her as a toddler – her ma and her people all in black, murmuring and remembering in low tones, while the baby squealed _daddy! daddy! bwue!_ Sort of a lucky way to occupy himself, then, saying _yeah lady, they're blue alright_ , when he didn't know what to say to the ever-shrinking population of displaced Alderaanians gathered in anniversary of the day he met his wife. Of the worst day of their life, her life.

Now the baby wasn't a baby though, was too big to be caught calling out _blue fish!_ with glee, and instead just watched them a bit and idly used her mind to make the blades of grass around the pond sway. Her eyes looked glassy, out of it. Broke his heart, so he tried to bait her by theatrically kicking off his socks and shoes.

"Sort of stuffy in there," he pronounced, leaning back in the grass.

"Mama's gonna be mad," she said in response, and she made the heels of his discarded dress shoes click together once, twice, three times like in that story Leia told her, some children's book from Alderaan all lost now. Something about clicking your heels and returning to where you're from. Something Leia could never do. "We're missing her part."

"You looked like you needed some air. Don't worry, she'll forgive us."

"She won't be mad at _me,_ Daddy. I didn't _do_ it."

"Ah, well, you don't need to protect me."

"Good, 'cause I won't," she said, frowning and petulant. But she did inch out of her dress shoes, then wiggle out of her stockings. She only wore black this one day of the year and he always hated it – made her look too old, like the kids he knew growing up, the ones who'd seen too much. And they'd worked so hard to make sure she didn't see too much.

"You gonna tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothin'," she said, rubbing her forehead. "Tired."

He sighed. "Yeah. M'tired too." Last night had been trying, real trying, to say the least – night before Remembrance always was. Even before they were together he remembered this – how one year he found her drinking and crying, maybe that first year? On Hoth it had been hiding in some closet all fetal – Hoth was a bad year. This year was shaping up to be a bad year.

Leia'd had more nightmares than she usually did nowadays, in the weeks leading up, they'd had the fight about sleeping pills they always did (they gave her unyielding dreamless sleeps but they also left her groggy and usually caused oversleeping and he always suspected she was afraid of pills anyway), the house had been on edge. And then last night the terrors had been especially terrific, the ones that were more flashback than anything else, vivid and intense, that left her screaming for long moments before he could wake her and then made her zombie-like and slick and scared and girlish, very young, very small. Vomiting, shaking, thinking him someone else, hating touch. The nightmares had seeped into the Force-sensitive kid's mind apparently, and the screaming woke her up too, because then _she_ was screaming and crying and begging to know that her mam was okay. Saying _where's Mama_ and _I need Mama to lie with me right now!_ That old phrase from the year at five when she insisted someone lie beside her each night until she fell asleep. _I need Mama, where's Mama?_ Grabbing him, her small hands on either side of his face. _Something very bad is going to happen to Mama and I'm scared, something very bad is going to happen! Daddy you have to do something_

 _!_

The kid who needed to see her and the wife who couldn't bear the idea of being seen trembling and dissociating and sticky with sick and sweat. And him, figuring showing Mae Leia curled up over the sani weeping would not reassure her that her mam was fine, would do the opposite. Moving between the two and aching at every _I just gotta go check on her, sweetheart, okay, I'll be back in a second._ Same words directed at them both in separate rooms, too tired to tease out different ways of coping – _you're alright, you're safe._

Mae shrugged. "Sleep is for the weak."

He actually gaped at her. "The hell told you that?"

"Mama told _you_ that, I _heard_ her."

"Yeah, well, your mam's crazy anyway," he said, playfully bumping her shoulder, but the look Mae gave him was foul and furious and so fuckin' sad.

"She's _not_ crazy!" Blades of grass splintering into shreds. "That's _mean_ and _wrong_ and it's a _lie._ Don't be a _liar,_ Daddy."

He held his hands up in apology immediately, and her mind released the grass. "I was just joking, sweetheart. Don't worry. I was only kidding around."

"Well _don't_ , I don't _like_ it."

"Alright lady, enough of that. You're gonna tell me what's bothering you – stop pretending you're okay, cause I know you're not. Alright? Can't fool me."

She bit her lip and he could see it was trembling and that broke him too – "Mama's sad is giving me a headache," Mae finally confessed in a low whisper.

He frowned deeply. "Headache how? Headache like here…" Han gestured to his forehead – "Or headache like here?" He made a small motion as though miming running his hand through his hair, his palm hovering above his head. Weird kid sign language they'd developed to talk about the Force when she was so small – Leia saying in her firm, clear, not-even-thirty-but-mothering-a-toddler voice _tell me how it hurts Maemae, does it hurt like here or here?_ The three-year-old swooping her hand in the strange little motion over and over and over through her tears and Leia gathering her up in her arms, whispering so soft in her ear – _okay baby, I'll just take a look, okay?_ Fucking – entering their daughter's head to make it okay – these strangest things part of his life – this pain he couldn't alleviate, boundary he couldn't breach, bond he couldn't break into––

Mae did the motion. "Here," she said to her lap. "It _hurts_."

He frowned but then tried to hide how deeply he was frowning. "Thought that didn't happen so much anymore? That your uncle gave you some good tricks and all, for blocking – blocking that out?"

"Yeah, but today's the day when all the bad stuff happened so I think it's bad because she's extra sad and all. So."

She looked so impossibly vulnerable, with those rounded porcelain baby features, that wispy hair Leia had to wrestle into intricate Alderaanian updos each morning. _Faerie-hair,_ she'd tease, mock-annoyed. _Just slips right out of my grasp!_ That solemn face.

So solemn – _fuck_ – and this was exactly why this year had been so hard, because all of the sudden it was like they couldn't protect her from anything, even when they were living someplace remote as hell for Leia's work there was the damn holonet, there were Leia's reports on goddamn _sex_ _trafficking_ littered all over the place, there were death-threats in her mam's inbox and books that told every damn thing, what the _hell_ were they teaching in these crappy local schools and who were these rough-lookin' local kids she spent her days with, and which one had planted the information that caused his daughter to come home and ask _why_ _was mama tortured and also what's torture?_ Showed her some profile on him posted somewhere 'cause they thought it cool her family's famous – _Daddy, why were you an Imp? And was Uncle Chewie really someone's_ slave _?_

He swallowed hard. "This is a hard part of the year for your mam."

"Yeah, I know."

"But that's why she's lucky to have you. Because you make her real happy. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know." She kicked her legs idly – skinny, bug-bitten, scratched from tree-climbing, all the stuff that had to be hidden by stockings for this one solemn day. "And you're lucky to have me 'cause I'm a good first mate and good at helping and stuff."

"Yeah…" he said slowly, frowning as he put that together – yes, she was, but not at – managing her mother, he didn't want her to think Leia was someone who needed to be managed, who the two of them took care of or something – "But that's why you're the first mate and not the captain, y'know. 'Cause you're just _helping,_ lady _._ The main responsibilities ain't yours, alright? You understand that?"

"Only 'cause you won't let me steer or pull any of the biggest levers," she said sourly and he exhaled deeply, like _yeah, alright, let's talk about flying itself, rather than using it as some metaphor for your mam's trauma._ "S'not _fair_."

"Yeah, well, that's 'cause you're the kid and I'm the grown-up. So I do the heavy-lifting around here, alright? Your mama and me," he added, just in case maybe she _was_ subconsciously thinking in terms of some metaphor – "We do the heavy-lifting in this family."

"I guess…" Mae mumbled, kicking her feet but wearing a smile behind her scowl.

He jabbed a finger at her, his tone mock-serious. "Your job is just to be a kid. You got that?"

She gave him a wry salute but instead of being amused he just thought in wonder _when did she get so big, that she could be wry?_ "Yes sir."

 _That's all for now – I'll post another collection when I finish this next bout of prompts. I typically post one or two a week on my Tumblr, so find me under the same username for more._


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